Beautiful Disaster
by KJmom
Summary: Voldemort is no more, but is it worth all that its cost them? Slash  mild  Harry/Draco


**A/N: Harry Potter and characters of Harry Potter do not belong to me. I'll still be just as broke after you read this as I was before. If you'd like to leave a review, that will make me even happier than if I _were_ making money from this fic (honestly!)**

**Thanks to Lori for the beta on this little ficlet. Half of my virtual love goes to her, the other half goes to you, dear reader. Enjoy!**

_Whoosh. Crackle. Crash._

The floo and further sounds of destruction wakes him from a fitful sleep, and he reaches for the robe hanging on his bedpost.

Draco pulls his robe tightly around him. He winces when his feet make contact with the icy floor. He despises winter time. The cold settles into his bones. The chilling wind stirs memories of bloody battlefields and screams of agony. Gray skies and the snow remind him of the nights spent in the midst of those icy wastelands. He absently rubs his aching shoulder and he forces those thoughts from his mind.

The old steps creak and pop loudly as he makes his way downstairs. He doesn't hurry; he knows who just appeared, and the bastard can bloody well wait. An agonizing pain in his leg nearly causes him to stumble, but he rights himself using the wall. Sighing when the wallpaper crumbles beneath his grasping hand, he continues slowly.

There was a time that he'd thought he'd live his life in splendor. There would have been house-elfs; fine wine; dress robes; galas; men and women vying to sleep in his bed… War has a way of destroying even the simplest dreams. His fairytale life twisted completely backward, but he supposes it's only fair. He spent the first few years wallowing in luxury, now he's paying the piper.

A hard gust of wind rattles the windows of his decrepit and war ravaged home, and his heart twinges. He thinks of his mother and how appalled she'd be to see the state of her beloved manor: stone pillars reduced to rubble; gardens untended and overgrown; walls peeling; floors dirty and cracked; windows broken. It truly is a sad reminder of how far they have fallen from grace.

Thoughts of his father accost him as well. Wouldn't the man be enraged to see the family vaults sitting barren? They'd taken everything. They'd seized his money, broken his wand, and tried to throw him in Azkaban. One man had stood between Draco and that fate. He's the reason Draco still owns his family home. Sometimes he thinks he'd be much better off if it had all been taken from him. There would be no reminders of the past to haunt him.

No one wants to hire an ex-Death Eater. So, now he lives on the charity of one person. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he swings the door open and it groans loudly in protest. There, on his freezing floor - looking rather disheveled and more than a little drunk - is Harry Bloody Potter.

He fights the sudden urge to kick the idiot in his ribs and toss him out into the snowstorm. This is such a waste. The fucking bastard has the world at his fingertips, but he wallows in cheap wine and rotgut muggle whiskey. As Draco approaches, he lets his gaze wander to slightly parted, moist lips and watery green eyes. Well then, at least the drunken imbecile is conscious.

Neither of them say a word as Draco reaches out a hand and Harry carefully and slowly takes hold and begins to stand. They both know why he's here. They've been engaging in this dance for years, and Draco - as much as he hates himself for it - lives for these nights.

Once he's on his feet, Harry wraps his arms desperately around Draco's waist, and Draco's isn't surprised by the first gut wrenching sob against his collarbone. He feels a little foolish as he places gentle kisses on dark, unkempt hair. His shoulder screams in pain when Harry buries himself deeper in the welcoming - if slightly reluctant - embrace.

Draco wants to move to the warmth of his bed. He wants to hold the man until the ghosts of their pasts are chased forever away. He wants to yell at the obnoxious prat for wasting his life. He wants to beat him senseless, or maybe knock some sense _into_ him. His emotions conflict with his good sense, and all he does is hold on tighter. He leans over and into the crying man, and moments later realizes his own tears are falling unchecked onto the top of Harry's head.

Draco straightens his back and untangles himself from the clinging man. Harry tries to protest, but Draco shushes him and they begin the trek back to Draco's room. Harry's hand feels fragile in his own, and Draco knows the rest of him is just as breakable - or possibly already broken. It's been so long since that night, but they both continue to live in that life shattering horror.

_Draco sees his mother fall, her face terror stricken as her heart slows to a stop. He remembers his father - once so proud, noble, and strong - reduced to a withering, frightened man. His father falls at her feet, grabs at her frantically, begs, pleads for her to live. Seconds later he joins her in death and Draco feels a curse cut deeply into his right side. In the span of a few seconds, Draco's world shatters._

_He's lying there - on death's doorstep - as both Granger and Weasley are lost in battle. He shouldn't be able to pick out one voice from another. Screams shouldn't be so recognizable, but he knows - even in his stupor - when Harry finds their bodies. Harry's anguish rises above anyone else's. Draco will never forget the banshee-like scream or the way his limited blood ran even colder at the sound._

Another window breaks under the wintry onslaught and pulls him from his memories. He can feel the cold setting in even deeper and hurries them along. He longs for the comfort of his old and worn bed, wants to burrow under the blankets and pull a warm body against him. These nights with Harry are the only nights he can sleep worth a damn.

He stokes the fire that never seems to chase the chill from his bedroom, and turns to find Harry swaying unsteadily as he fights to get out of his clothes. Draco pulls the only other night shirt he owns from his dresser and sets about helping his unlikely companion get ready for bed.

It seems that tonight wasn't a bad night. Harry isn't as drunk as usual and Draco can see no signs of muggle drug-use. He _hates_ contending with a drunk _and_ 'high' Harry. The nightmares are so much worse when Harry is under the influence of drugs. The alcohol isn't good for him, but at least he's manageable like this.

Draco can hardly believe that he's come to think of himself as Harry's caregiver, but that's what he is. Harry pays the few bills Draco has, buys his food, and clothes, and Draco holds him when Harry's world threatens to crash around him. They aren't perfect, not even close, but its what they do, and somehow it works.

Draco takes a moment to really _look_ at the man in front of him. His hair is longer, but still just as unruly. His face is haggard, unshaven, and dark circles sit comfortably under emerald eyes - as if they have every right to be there. He's thinner and there is a slight yellow tint to his skin that causes Draco's breath to catch - too many binges, too much alcohol…

Each imperfection is distressing and ugly by themselves. But, if Draco looks hard enough, he can just see traces of the vibrant boy that used to occupy his daydreams: a quirk of thin lips, a tiny sparkle in his eyes, hope wavering just below the surface of despair. He is a fucking disaster. But, he's Draco's disaster - whether or not Harry's realizes it. In spite of it all - or maybe because of it - he's absolutely beautiful to Draco.

Draco climbs into bed with his broken and lonely man and soon night shirts are tossed aside in favor of skin sliding against skin. The covers follow the nightshirts to the floor as they finally find warmth in each other. Draco loses himself in the tight heat of Harry's body, and Harry meets every thrust, silently begging for more. Draco gives everything he has and gets everything in return.

Later, as he's holding the snoring man, he decides that it's time. In the morning Harry will invite Draco to live with him - he always does. This time, Draco will accept. Harry needs someone to save him from himself, and Draco needs Harry. Maybe its not love, maybe they don't even really like each other, but they _need _each other. Draco pulls his beautiful disaster just a little closer and thinks maybe that's enough.


End file.
